scatter (323)
by ShadowsTakeAll
Summary: But there's one thing that time and distance will never change: when Scott calls, they come running.
1. the cabin

**Oh yes, this is another Shadows fic. I know, I know, why am I starting a new multi-chapter story when I have so many in progress. To answer it simply: because I can. I must give two shout-outs (emphasis on the _shout_, because this would have happened very differently if not for them): to my friend K, who's the real villain of this story, and to my friend L, for encouraging me to kill children (because these are totally the kind of people I need in my life, right? Right.) So anyway. Backstory.**

**This little plot bunny came from an interview the cast did a little while ago, during which they were asked where they saw their characters in ten years. So yes, this is a future fic. It's set about ten years after graduation, when the pack's all gone their separate ways. Something brings them back together, chaos ensues, things get crazy; it's Beacon Hills, after all. Everything should become clear as it goes on, but feel free to PM me if you want anything clarified/explained and I'll do my best.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for the three OCs you'll see throughout the story. Warning: character deaths (yes, plural), sensitive subjects, horrible things happening to characters you love... y'know, the usual for me. This first chapter is actually kind of the epilogue, set a month after everything goes down, just to give you a sense of where it all ends up. Further warning: do not trust me, do not make assumptions, and do not get too comfortable. This story is one of the most evil things I have ever done.**

**Now that's out of the way, shall we get into it? I haven't decided when I'll be updating this yet (maybe on Fridays, instead of my usual random one-shots, or maybe on a different day); I guess it depends on the interest it gets. So read, review, and I'll see you all soon, I hope.**

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/

Derek sits in the rocking chair in his living room, watching Allie and Berry tumble around the house playing some invented game that involves a lot of howling and the occasional shriek while their parents are in the kitchen; Stiles shouts out "Careful, you guys!" every now and then and Lydia giggles, sounding more carefree than she's been in weeks. Scott and Kira are watching them too, and with his werewolf-hearing Derek can just hear their quiet conversation.

"You're great with them, you know," Scott murmurs, inclining his head toward the kids as they hurtle past. He pauses, and then, without looking at his wife, says, "We should do it too. Have kids, I mean."

Kira's eyes light up, and so does her aura – streaks of red and orange foxfire shoot from her like sparks, making Derek smile. She's learned to control her aura, to hide it if need be, but in moments of intense emotion – like excitement – it seems to happen of its own accord. "Really?" she asks.

"Sure," Scott says easily, kissing her gently on the temple. "It's about time we added some more pups to this pack."

The foxfire around Kira seems to shimmer, this time with something a little different to excitement. She drops her voice even lower and says, "You know, Derek has a spare bedroom down the hall."

Derek averts his gaze and shuts off his wolf-hearing, and a second later Kira and Scott do indeed disappear down the hall – but not before Scott pauses to wink at him, knowing he'd been eavesdropping.

As the kids sprint past again, this time with Allie yelling something about being a warrior princess, Derek starts to make his way into the kitchen. Stiles is sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee and a weary but hopeful glint in his eyes. Lydia is standing by the stove, cooking dinner for everyone – it looks like there's enough pasta to feed a small army, not to mention more loaves of bread than can even fit comfortably on the bench.

"Derek, hand me that jar of garlic, would you?" Lydia asks, darting a look over her shoulder.

He does as instructed, and she takes it from him with a grateful smile. A moment later Malia appears from a side room, holding a spice rack and looking incredibly confused. She sees Derek and narrows her eyes.

"What kind of system is this?" she asks, gesturing to the spice rack as she sets it down on the table in front of Stiles, who gives an exaggerated sneeze. "You've got mint in the rosemary jar, you've mixed the oregano and sage, and don't even get me started on the paprika -"

With a groan, Derek turns to Lydia. "What did you do to my cousin?"

"Hey, that wasn't me," Lydia says defensively, but the effect is ruined by the smile she can't quite hide. "She's been running a finishing school for supernatural creatures for years. Of course she's going to be organized."

"There's a difference between being organized and being uptight," Derek responds, but he's laughing too.

"Good luck with that, by the way," Stiles says as Isaac enters the room, and Isaac just rolls his eyes and pulls Malia into a kiss.

"There are kids in the next room," Lydia scolds, mock-stern. "Keep it PG-13, okay, guys?"

"Sorry," Isaac mumbles against Malia's lips, and then he pulls away, grabs her hand, and leads her to the door. "We'll be back in time for dinner. We're just going for a walk."

"Don't go all coyote and start hunting rabbits again!" Stiles calls after them, and Malia glares at him over her shoulder.

"That was _one_ time," she mutters as they disappear from sight.

"You're out of thyme, by the way," Lydia says, pointing at the spice rack, in particular at a small jar full of something that looks suspiciously like wolfsbane.

Frowning, he goes to open it, but Stiles snatches it away before he can. "No way, dude. I'm not letting you take that cure."

"Cure?" Derek asks, his hand falling to his side and his eyebrows raised in a question. "What cure?"

"The one Deaton's been working on," Lydia says matter-of-factly, handing him a bowl of salad and ushering him out of the room. "And don't let Scott take it either."

Still confused, Derek takes the bowl of salad out into the living room and sets it down on the table. Almost as soon as he's done so, Allie comes barrelling into the room, trips over her own feet, and crashes into the table. The bowl – thankfully plastic – clatters to the ground, spilling lettuce and tomato across the floor. Allie blinks up at him, flicking parsley off her legs, and gives him an apologetic grin.

Before Derek can do anything, Lydia walks into the room, arms folded and eyes narrowed. "Allison Martin-Stilinski, what on earth are you doing?"

Allie's grin falters and she scrambles to her feet, looking helplessly at Derek.

"It was my fault," Derek says quickly, already starting to scoop the remains of the salad back into the bowl. "I accidentally knocked it over."

Lydia's eyes narrow further, like she's not sure she should believe it, but she doesn't push the issue. "Allison, go play outside," she says, and as Berry creeps into the room she adds, "You too, Meredith."

Registering the use of their full names, her daughters quickly do as told.

"I'll do that," Lydia says, crouching down and taking over the clean-up. She brushes some hair out of her eyes and asks, "Would you mind watching the girls outside? God knows what kind of trouble they can get into."

"They _are_ Stiles' children," Derek agrees with a chuckle, standing up and stretching before making his way outside.

The girls are darting in and out of the trees, brandishing sticks and growling at each other, and Derek sits down on the front step to watch them. This is the first time the entire pack has been at his house, and even though he normally likes the quiet, sometimes he does need this kind of cheerful chaos. They're family, after all, and it's comforting to spend time with them. After all this time they're still a pack, and no matter how far they roam they'll always find their way back to each other.

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**Most of the chapters will be longer, and all of the characters here will have their own storylines/scenes/problems. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and don't forget to review if you did!**


	2. the news

**Hi again, guys. Thanks for the response to the first chapter, and I'm sorry for the delay before this one. Life got in the way or whatever. Anyway. Again, I don't normally write future fics or anything with children, so this was both exciting and terrifying. I hope you guys keep enjoying the story, and feel free to let me know what you think. Here you go, the first proper chapter...**

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/

Scattered across the country are the remains of the McCall pack. After graduation and the defeat of the Benefactor (which happened in the space of a week and left a trail of dead bodies halfway across the county) they went their separate ways, overseas and across the country and to the furthest reaches of the earth. Some of them haven't seen each other in close to ten years; some haven't even spoken to their alpha in years.

But there's one thing that time and distance will never change: when Scott calls, they come running.

/

"Lyds? You ready?" Stiles calls, frowning at himself in the mirror. He holds up a black tie, then a yellow one, and then tosses them both on the floor. "Lydia?"

Hearing no response, he abandons his search for the perfect tie and ventures down the hall, peering into the rooms he passes and internally sighing when they're all empty. His wife is nowhere to be seen, even though he heard her come home half an hour ago. Finally he finds her, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen floor with a child sitting in her lap. They both look up when he enters.

"Don't come in here, Daddy," the little girl says at once, tossing her strawberry blonde curls over her shoulder and pointing at the floor.

Stiles glances down at the floor near his feet. There's an array of colored sticks and balls – Lydia's old molecular chemistry set. Some of them seem to be arranged in a particular way, and it's to this that his daughter is now pointing. "Why not, Allie?" he asks, wondering what antics his eldest daughter has been up to now – and why his wife is indulging in them.

"Because there's water on the floor," she announces proudly, and Stiles groans. The array of balls and sticks on the ground is in fact the chemical formula for water; he may have almost failed high school chemistry but he's seen his kids playing with the set enough times to be able to recognize some of the basics.

"All right, you two," Stiles says, sweeping up the chemistry set and stuffing it back into the box, "you have to get ready now. We have to be at the airport in less than half an hour."

Still grinning, Allie scrambles to her feet and scampers off.

"Tell your sister to pack a dress this time!" Lydia calls after her, watching as the girl disappears down the hall. As soon as she's out of sight, Stiles holds out a hand to help Lydia to her feet. "Remember that time we went out for dinner and Berry tried to wear sandshoes with her dress?"

Stiles laughs at the memory as he and Lydia start making their way down the hall. "Sometimes I wonder if she's even related to you," he says, with a pointed look at the three-inch heels she's wearing – with her jeans.

As they pass the girls' room, they catch sight of Berry, her nose in a book and her dark hair falling into her eyes. She brushes it away impatiently and mutters, "Just a minute," when her sister tries to pry the book from her hands.

"Then again," Stiles says with a low chuckle, "she's definitely got traces of you in her too."

Lydia slaps him lightly on the arm and leads the way into their room. She kicks off her heels and stretches out her legs, wincing slightly.

"If the heels are bothering you that much," Stiles says tentatively, knowing what the reaction will be, "why do you wear them?"

Lydia looks at him incredulously. "Seven years of marriage and you still question why I wear heels?" she says, and then she shakes her head in mock disappointment. "Sometimes I wonder why I even agreed to marry you."

"Because nobody can ever say no to this face," Stiles says, accompanying his words with a deliberately crooked smile. His smile slips as his phone goes off, and he checks it to see a message from Scott asking what time their flight is. He sets his cell back on the bed without replying to it.

"Scott again?" Lydia asks, taking a couple of dresses out of the closet and carefully folding them.

"Yeah." He doesn't elaborate, and she doesn't ask again. Stiles pulls a bag out from under the bed and haphazardly throws some clothes into it. When he's finished he straightens up, stretching out his arms in front of him. "If I have to respond to another email about a forgotten password or hacked account, I'm going to -" He makes a strangling motion with his hands, and then sighs and turns back to packing.

"You're the one who wanted to be a tech support officer," she reminds him patiently, color-coding her blouses as she packs them neatly into her suitcase.

"Yeah, that's when I was convinced that girls thought nerds were cool," Stiles complains, attempting to zip up his overstuffed bag.

"Some of them do," Lydia says, nudging him out of the way and pulling his clothes out of the bag and shooing her husband away when he tries to help her re-fold everything. "And it worked on one girl, at least."

"Oh really?" Stiles' mouth tilts up and he raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Lydia says breezily, shutting the bag with effortless ease and handing it to Stiles. "Of course, that girl wasn't me, I just settled -"

Stiles cuts off her teasing with a kiss, and she doesn't object in the slightest. At least not until there's a rustle of skirts in the doorway and a simultaneous "Eww" from both of their children. They break off abruptly and Lydia pushes her hair away from her face, ducking her head and trying to hide her blush.

"You guys got ready quickly," Stiles says, slinging his bag over his shoulder and reaching for Lydia's neatly-packed suitcase.

"We have to be at the airport in less than half an hour," Allie says, mimicking her father. He gives her an exaggeratedly pained expression and she giggles.

"Come on, you two," Lydia says, holding out her hands. Allie takes her left hand and Berry takes her right hand and they all but drag her out the door. She shoots a look over her shoulder at Stiles, who gives her a smile that's more sad than glad.

_It'll be okay, _he mouths, and she grits her teeth and lets herself believe, for just a second, that he might actually be right.

/

It reads like a nightmare version of the 12 Days of Christmas. Five suicidal teens, four with anger management issues, three caught cheating on a test, two with divorcing parents, and one in an existential crisis. Kira's been working at Beacon Hills High for just over two years, and somehow it never seems to get any easier. Every day kids march in and out of her office, some of their own accord and some on a teacher's orders, and tell her all about their struggles and expect her to have some kind of magic fix. Even the ones who don't tell her anything seem to expect her to be intuitive enough to give them the answers to questions they don't ask. She does her best, but sometimes it doesn't feel like enough.

She's barely been home five minutes when Scott trudges through the door, Liam in tow, both with blood smeared down their arms and grim expressions on their faces. "Oh my god." Kira jumps to her feet, hurrying over to them. "Are you -"

"It's okay," Scott says, waving her away. "Training exercise gone wrong."

"Scott -" Liam starts, closing the door with almost exaggerated care behind him. "I really -"

"Don't worry about it." Scott's voice is tight, strained, and Kira knows it must have been a long day at the beta training facility he runs in the woods just outside Beacon Hills.

Liam looks like he wants to argue, but instead he shrugs, hitches his backpack farther up his shoulder, and mumbles something about going to have a shower. As soon as he's upstairs, Scott lets out a long sigh, slumping into the nearby sofa. Kira sits beside him, resting a hand tentatively on his shoulder. He smiles at her, and through the weariness she can see genuine gratitude. She hasn't seen him much, not since the alpha of the Prendergast pack died and all of the betas ended up in Scott's training school.

"Can I get you anything?" she asks, rubbing his shoulder in what she hopes is a comforting way.

He shakes his head, closing his eyes and leaning back against the fox-patterned cushions (Stiles had bought them a few years ago as a joke present for Kira, but she embraced both him and her inner kitsune and they've had pride of place on the sofa since then). "I just want this week to be over with," he mutters, and then he seems to realize what he'd said. His eyes fly open and Kira can see the horror in them.

"You didn't mean it," she says quickly, knowing how stressful this whole thing has been for him. He relaxes slightly, but he's still on edge. "Come on," she says, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet, "you can help me cook dinner."

Scott snorts with laughter, but allows himself to be led into the kitchen. "You really know how to cheer me up," he says with good-natured sarcasm, and she just smiles.

He doesn't understand the coyness in her smile until they step into the kitchen. Kira closes her eyes and there's a faint sizzling noise, and then three candles on the kitchen table spring to life, flames flickering casually as if they hadn't just been magically ignited by a thunder kitsune. The table is set for two, complete with wine glasses and napkins that are folded into delicate swans.

"I set it up after you left this morning," Kira says, glancing back and seeing Scott's amazed smile. "I was going to surprise you with dinner and everything, but you got home earlier than I thought you would and then I -"

"Kira," he says, and she stops babbling at once and looks expectantly at him. For a second she's worried he's going to tell her he already has plans, or he's too tired, or she shouldn't have bothered. But then he gives her one of his patented Scott McCall smiles and her heart completely melts. "I love you," he murmurs, pulling her into a kiss, and a warm glow spreads across her skin.

The kiss seems to last forever but it ends too quickly, and as he pulls away Kira wonders if she'll ever really feel close enough to him, if there'll ever be a time she won't be longing just to hold his hand or brush his hair back from his face or even lie beside him.

"So," he says, clapping his hands and looking around the kitchen, "where do we start?"

/

The flight gets in at seven that night, and it takes another hour to get to the lake house. By the time they tumble through the door, Allie and Berry are practically dead on their feet and their parents aren't much better. But Allie seems to get a second wind as soon as she's unpacked, and Berry watches quietly as her sister darts around the house, peeking in all the rooms and opening all the cupboards until Lydia scoops her up and carries her back to her room.

"Bed time," Lydia says firmly, depositing her daughter on the pre-made bed. She can't remember the last time anyone slept in it, or the last time any of the Martin-Stilinski clan was even in Beacon Hills.

"I'm not sleepy," Allie protests, but her drooping eyelids do nothing to help her case.

"Well, I am," Berry announces, climbing into the bed too and curling up under the covers.

"Both of you need to get some rest," Lydia says, tucking them in and kissing them both on the forehead. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

She turns out the light and moves toward the door, but as she reaches it a voice from behind her stops her in her tracks.

"He's going to be okay, Mom," Allie says with quiet confidence.

Lydia pauses, looking back at the shadowy form of her daughters. A tired smile drifts across her lips. "What are you, psychic?" she teases gently.

She can hear the smile in Allie's voice as she replies, "Maybe I am."

"Good night, girls."

When Lydia emerges from the room, closing the door carefully behind her, she sees her husband searching through a nearby cupboard for some spare blankets for their room. Lydia joins him in the search, and it's quiet for a few minutes.

"You heard that, I suppose," she says quietly as they start taking the blankets into their room.

Stiles hesitates, and then says, "Yes." Silence slips between them for a moment and then he adds, "She's right, you know. He could be okay."

"He's not," Lydia says, and the words sound like a betrayal.

They reach the room and dump the blankets on the bed, and then Stiles looks at his wife. "Are you saying that as a banshee or just being pessimistic?" he asks, the faintest trace of laughter lacing his words.

Lydia picks up one of the blankets, tangling her fingers in the tassels at the end, remembering a thousand times they'd slept in this house. When Malia and Liam were learning to control their shifts. When she and the others were studying for the SATs and needed to escape. When they came here after graduation. "Maybe they're the same thing," she says, and she lets the blanket fall to the floor with a gentle rustle of fabric.

/

"You're sure he lives out here?" Malia asks for the third time, holding out her hand to stop a rebounding branch hitting her in the face.

"I'm sure," Isaac responds tersely as he clambers over a boulder. He holds his hand out to Malia to offer his help, but she springs lightly on top of the boulder and then takes the lead. He rolls his eyes at her as they keep going. He understands her frustration – they've been walking almost an hour, and the forest around them seems to have stayed the same. But he could track this place by scent even if he couldn't remember the landmarks.

They walk for a few more minutes, and then up ahead the trees thin and a small log cabin comes into view. Malia comes to a stop so quickly Isaac bumps into her.

"That's it?" she asks, disappointment written across her face.

"What did you expect, a castle?" Isaac pushes past her and carries on toward the cabin, and after a short pause Malia follows suit.

"It doesn't look like anyone's home," she says when they reach the front door.

"It never looks like anyone's home," Isaac replies. He taps three times on the door and then steps back to wait. When nothing happens he calls, "Derek? It's me, Isaac. Are you in there?"

When there's still no response, he sighs and reaches for the door handle. A split second before he grabs it, the door opens. Derek is standing before them, wearing an old pair of sweatpants and nothing else. He seems like he's about to complain about them being here, but then he sees their serious expressions and ushers them in without a word.

A few minutes later they're gathered in what passes for a living room. Derek's fully clothed now, and he offers them both tea. They both decline, and he looks faintly relieved.

"So what brings you to my office?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and surveying his two younger packmates.

Isaac scuffs his foot along the wooden floor, and even Malia has the good grace to look uncomfortable. But it doesn't last for long, and some of her old directness seeps through. "It's time," she says abruptly, and Derek narrows his eyes.

He glances at Isaac, who nods miserably.

"He's dying," Malia says, blunt as always. The words weigh heavy in the air, hanging between them like a veil. "Ryan Stilinski-McCall is dying."

/

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**The next chapter should be up... well, sometime. Don't forget to review, and I'll see you next time.**


	3. the reunion

**Hey guys, have some pack feels and a terminally ill child. Enjoy!**

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/  
Tuesday morning dawns bright and clear, with just a hint of dew on the grass and the slightest wind ruffling Scott's hair as he opens the front door. It's almost eight o'clock, and as agreed the guests are starting to arrive. The whole pack is coming, and Scott had told himself he was going to keep a brave face in front of them. But when he sees Stiles and Lydia on the doorstep, he breaks down, something inside him snapping and causing his words to catch in his throat.

Stiles gives him something that's halfway between a grin and a grimace, and then the two men embrace. Lydia hasn't seen them like this in almost ten years, not since they all parted ways, and it hurts her heart that their reunion has to be under these circumstances. Over Scott's shoulder, Lydia catches sight of Kira.

The kitsune waves to her, and almost at the same instant, Allie and Berry notice her. With a muffled shriek both of them sprint toward her, and Kira barely has time to brace herself before the two kids slam into her, wrapping their arms around her with delighted cries of "Aunt Kira!"

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," Lydia says, sidestepping Scott and Stiles and hurrying into the house. "They still don't quite understand the concept of personal space -"

"It's fine," Kira says, laughing as she tousles Allie's hair and rubs Berry's shoulder. "You know I love them."

The four of them make their way into the living room, and Lydia takes the armchair while Kira takes the sofa, and both children pile on top of the kitsune. They haven't seen her since last year, when Scott and Kira took a trip to New England during the school holidays.

While Kira gushes over how much they've both grown and Lydia watches the scene with amusement, Scott and Stiles break apart and share a grim smile.

Without a word Scott leads Stiles inside, and they head into the kitchen. They close the door behind them – to shelter the kids, not their wives – and Stiles leans against the counter, exhaling slowly. Suddenly Stiles looks sharply at his best friend. "How are you?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Scott leans against the door, and Stiles notices just how worn-out he looks, how the lines around his eyes have grown and how his neutral expression seems a touch more like a frown. "I'm okay, considering." He pauses for a beat and then asks, "You?"

Stiles shrugs, feeling weight pressing down on his shoulders. They'd known this day was coming, but it's not the kind of thing any of them could ever have prepared for. They both fall into their own thoughts, startled out of it only by the ringing of the doorbell.

When they get out there Lydia's already opened the door, and the rest of the pack is trailing in. Derek comes first, looking even more weathered than Scott can remember him being last time; but the beta still offers him something that, for Derek, passes as a smile. Malia's behind him, dressed head-to-toe in pink and sipping what Scott can tell is her signature vanilla soy latte. Completing the group is Isaac, who's adjusting his scarf (somehow he never managed to grow out of that trend) and looking rather nervously at Allie and Berry.

Scott greets each pack member individually, and then they all go to the living room. It's crowded with all of them there; Derek, Isaac, and Stiles stand up the back of the room, while the girls all take one chair, the kids sit on the floor, and Scott takes the armchair. He clears his throat and all eyes turn to him.

"So we all know why we're here," he begins slowly, thinking about how strange it is that it took an impending death to get his entire pack together. "We were hoping this day would never happen…"

The rest of his sentence, unsaid, swirls around everyone's minds regardless: _but we always knew it would._

"So they're at the hospital now?" Stiles asks, taking over.

Scott nods, relieved at having some of the pressure taken off. "My mom and your dad are there already," he says. "I told them we'd head over when we were all here." He takes a deep breath and looks around at the assembled pack, his heart swelling with pride and also with regret. "Which I guess we are, so we should probably get going."

/

They split into two groups: Scott, Kira, Isaac, and Derek in one car, and Stiles, Lydia, Malia, and the kids in the other. They arrive at the hospital a minute apart, and after gathering in the parking lot they make their way inside together.

John – formerly known as the Sheriff, until his retirement late last year – is in the waiting room, and he stands to greet them. He embraces Scott and Stiles simultaneously, and offers everyone else the warmest smile he can; they politely ignore the way it's tinged with sadness.

"I'm glad you're all here," John says, his voice heavy and thick with sleep – or lack thereof. "Melissa should be -"

Right on cue, John's wife walks around the corner. When she sees the pack she swipes at her eyes with her sleeves, evidently trying to hide the fact she'd been crying. She hugs Scott first, and then Stiles, and then each of the other pack members in turn. It takes almost a minute to get around to everyone, but they all know they need as much comfort as they can get – and give – right now.

"It's probably best if you go in only a couple of you at a time," she says, running a hand through her tangled hair and looking like her legs might give out at any moment. Her husband wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, and she leans against him, clearly grateful.

Stiles gestures at Scott and Kira. "You guys go first," he says.

Scott starts to move, but Kira stays where she is. He turns back to her, a question in his eyes, and she shakes her head. "You and Stiles should go in first," she says.

Melissa smiles at the kitsune, but it doesn't take away from the fact that there are tears still brimming in her eyes. "Go on, boys," says John, still holding onto his wife. "Room one-oh-one."

Stiles dips his head at Kira, silently thanking her, and then he and Scott head down the hall. Partway down, Stiles glances at the clothes he's wearing. "Is this okay?" he asks, indicating the plaid shirt and freshly ironed jeans.

Scott frowns in confusion. "It's fine," he says. Then he looks at his friend quizzically. "Why?"

"I just…" Stiles searches for the right words. "I didn't know what to wear. A suit seemed too formal, and I didn't want to wear any bright colors, and…"

He trails off, and Scott doesn't push him. "Why didn't you ask Lydia?"

"I did," Stiles says as they come to a stop in front of room 101. "She told me to stop being so ridiculous and that nobody was going to care what I wore."

Scott laughs, one hand on the doorknob. "Smart girl, that one," he says, opening the door and leading the way in.

Ever since Ryan was diagnosed, they've known this day was coming. They've literally had years to prepare, but it doesn't make this any easier to deal with. He looks so small in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of machines and looking deathly pale. But his face brightens as he sees his two brothers approaching.

"Scott! Stiles!" He struggles into a sitting position, and it looks like it causes him actual pain.

"Hey, buddy," Stiles says, sitting down carefully on the end of Ryan's bed. "How are you?"

Ryan indicates the array of machines, but there's humor in his eyes and a glint of amusement in his voice as he says, "Fantastic."

Scott smiles, and he reaches to put his hand on Ryan's shoulder. But the alpha recoils almost instantly, and Stiles can see the alarm darkening his eyes. Cautiously, Scott reaches out again, resting his hand on his brother's shoulder, and Stiles can see thick threads of black arcing up the alpha's arm. Ryan's eyes close and he sinks down into his pillow, unaware that Scott is literally taking his pain away but suddenly feeling more relaxed.

When Scott's taken all he can take without passing out, he lets go and inhales deeply.

"So," Stiles says quickly, wanting to distract him in case he asks why Scott suddenly looks so tired, "your chart here -" he holds the medical chart up, ignoring the fact that he probably shouldn't have read it "- says that your full name is Ryan Christopher Stilinski-McCall. That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?"

Ryan opens one eye, looking lazily at his older brother. "It's meaningful," he says, a hint of condescension coloring his voice. "They didn't just call me that for the hell of it."

Although Stiles already knows the story, he feigns ignorance. "Yeah?"

With Scott and Stiles on either side of him, Ryan recounts the story of how his parents liked each other for years before they acted on it, and how they accidentally had their first date at a place called Ryan's (Melissa had been stood up and John had a craving for that restaurant's brand of garlic bread), and how they'd been inseparable after that.

"And what about the _Christopher_ part?" Stiles prompts.

Ryan shrugs.

"They didn't tell you about that?" Scott asks, genuinely surprised.

"No." Ryan looks at both of his brothers, clearly confused. "Why? Who's Christopher?"

Scott and Stiles share a look, and then Stiles shakes his head slightly, indicating that he doesn't want to field this one. "You're named after a man called Christopher Argent," Scott explains, "and he was the bravest man I ever knew…"

/

By the time Scott and Stiles are finished, Ryan is so exhausted that the doctors decree that he's not allowed visitors for another hour. At the gentle insistence of their children, Melissa and John eventually go home – the first time they've left the hospital in days – and leave the pack there to watch out for Ryan. Derek and Malia wander off to fetch them all coffee and vending machine food, while the others stay in the waiting room.

"I heard you talking in there," Isaac says to Scott and Stiles. "You told him about Mr Argent."

Scott nods slowly, unsurprised that his beta used werewolf-hearing to listen to them. "I figured he should know, at least part of it."

"Not about the werewolf hunter part," Stiles adds, "but he should know that he was named after one of the good guys."

"Well, you know what they say," Isaac says, glancing up as Malia and Derek come back. He starts toward them and then looks back at Scott and Stiles. "I guess the good really do die young."

"And they're the only ones who seem to stay dead," Stiles adds darkly as Isaac helps Malia distribute the coffees. His mind fills with memories of battles past: of defeating Kate (again), of Peter's quest for power, of Gerard's sudden re-emergence as the Benefactor. And he remembers the Argents who never came back, the ones who never deserved to die.

Over the other side of the room, Allie and Berry are building a Lego tower and Kira and Lydia are talking quietly.

"I can't believe it's been a year since we've seen you," Kira's saying, talking to Lydia but watching the children, a maternal kind of glow in her eyes. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"Just the usual," Lydia says. "I've been busy working at MIT, Stiles has been doing more hours, and these two -" she gestures at her children "- can be a handful."

At that exact moment Allie demolishes the tower and Berry folds her arms, pouting.

Kira laughs. "I can imagine." She takes a sip of her coffee, and then glances up at the banshee beside her. "Is it hard coming back? After everything, I mean."

Lydia considers the question. She'd left almost the second she graduated, flying off to Europe just to get away from this hellhole. Part of her had been convinced she'd never come back, but she couldn't quite get away from the States. So she'd settled for the other side of the country, as far away from Beacon Hills as possible, but it turns out that two timezones aren't enough. She can still feel the pull of this, can picture the town glowing like a beacon, and she knows she'll never really be free of the place.

"It's hard," she says finally, "but we need to be here."

The two women fall silent, watching Allie and Berry turn their tower into a very precarious bridge over a river of balled-up tissues.

Kira looks back at Lydia, noticing just how far away her eyes are and the fact that her hands are shaking slightly. "Are you okay?" she asks, and Lydia flicks her gaze to her, but it feels like she's looking through her.

"I'm okay," Lydia says, with an almost-convincing smile. Then it fades and she says, "I just… sometimes I wish I wasn't a banshee, you know?"

Kira tilts her head, looking at her friend in concern. "Do you feel something?"

"Yeah." She swallows, trying to quell the feeling, trying to block out the noise and the jumble of names. "Cancer wards just aren't great places for banshees."

There's nothing Kira can say, so she just rubs circles on Lydia's back, something she used to do when they were in high school, and Lydia lets herself be comforted by it.

Cancer wards aren't great places for banshees, and although nobody says it, they're all sure that Beacon Hills isn't a great place for any of them.

/

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**Read, review, critique, whatever. I'll see you all next time!**


	4. the catalyst

**Hey wolflets, and thanks for the reviews. Before this chapter, I'd just like to clarify a couple of things that may not really be explained fully in the story. First, yes, Mr Argent is dead; he died during the fight with the Benefactor - details don't really matter in this case. John and Melissa are married, as mentioned, and Ryan is their child (making him half-brother to both Scott and Stiles). When I started writing this story there was a certain storyline I wanted to incorporate, which is hinted at this chapter, but I decided to veer away from that. So no, you will not find out what happened in Paris. If anyone has any other questions, feel free to leave them in a review and I'll respond to them next chapter. Now, here we go.**

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/

The next two days are a haze of hospital visits and suppressed emotions, and Thursday afternoon finds the pack spread out across Beacon Hills. Scott took Stiles and Liam to the beta training facility, Derek and Isaac are in the cabin in the woods, and the rest are at the hospital. Melissa and John are in the waiting room with Allie and Berry, as they have been all morning, while Lydia and Malia are in with Ryan. Kira is napping in an empty room, having spent the night at the hospital. It's an unspoken agreement that Ryan isn't to be left alone; there's always a pack member at the door at the very least, if not in the room with him.

Today he's teaching Lydia and Malia how to play a card game called Trolls and Elves, which he swears his friend Michael taught him, although by the way he keeps changing the rules the girls are reasonably confident he's making it up on the spot. But he's smiling, and that's enough to keep them playing, even though Malia's now in negative points ("If you have the ace of spades _and_ the seven of diamonds then you become the Elf Prince, and if you don't announce that then you lose all your points!") and Lydia has something called the Troll card ("If you don't get rid of it by the end of the round, you have to give all your points to me.") They finish two games before Ryan gets too tired to continue, and then the girls depart, leaving him to sleep.

Everyone's in the waiting room: Melissa is sleeping with her head on John's shoulder, and Kira's reading a book to the kids, who are staring at her with rapt attention. Lydia starts to make her way over to them, but Malia grabs her arm.

"Uh uh," she says sternly. "Come with me."

Curious, Lydia allows Malia to lead her down the hall, to an empty set of chairs in a deserted hallway. When she's sure they're alone, Malia folds her arms and glares at the banshee.

"What's going on?" the werecoyote asks, taking Lydia by complete surprise.

Forcing herself to appear more calm than she is, Lydia asks, "What do you mean?"

"Cut the crap, Lydia." The words are harsh, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern, which cuts through a couple of layers of Lydia's reservations. "Something's wrong; I can smell it on you."

Lydia should have known better than to try to fool a werecoyote. Still, it's not something she wants to talk about. "Nothing's wrong," she says stiffly, hoping it will be enough to make the other woman back off.

It is, just, but the look Malia gives her makes her sure it's not over. Without another word Lydia leads the way back to the others, and she sits down on the floor and listens to Kira read the story – something about a prince who sweeps into the castle and rescues the princess from her horrible life.

If only it was that easy.

/

Stiles lets out a low whistle, following Scott through the metal gates. "You built this place?" he asks, looking around in appreciation. The walls are all low, hidden by the thick belt of surrounding trees, but the place looks sturdy, solid. Like a fortress.

"I had help," Scott says, and Stiles internally curses. Of course – Mr Argent had helped him set up, right before the final battle with the Benefactor. Derek had helped too, before he took off into the woods.

"It looks great," Stiles goes on, trying to cover the awkwardness. Liam is trailing a few steps behind, and Stiles turns to him now. "You've been taking care of this place for the past couple of days while Scott's been at the hospital?"

Liam jerks his head up, like he's startled at being addressed. "Yeah," he says, and there's still a wariness in his eyes, something that never quite left him. Stiles understands; after everything they've been through, they've more than earned the right to be cautious.

"Are there many wolves here?" Stiles asks, hoping to get Liam talking.

The beta shrugs, but he walks a little faster so that he falls into step beside the two older guys. "There are about twenty nine now," he says. "Most of them are actually omegas – they don't have a pack. But some of them are betas, taking a break from their pack."

"And then we have these guys," Scott says, coming to a stop in front of a large open area, in which no fewer than ten half-transformed werewolves are standing. An older werewolf is standing in the midst of them, and, on cue, they all fully transform, sprouting claws and facial hair and fangs. Then, at another word from the man – who Stiles takes to be the instructor – they all transform back into human form.

"The Prendergast pack," Liam says as they keep moving on, watching the wolves transform back and forth. "Their alpha was killed a couple weeks ago, so they all ended up here."

Scott leads them into the main building, which seems to be some kind of abandoned hut.

"How do they end up here?" Stiles asks. He'd talked to Scott enough to know a bit about this place, but they've drifted apart in the last couple of years and they haven't really talked about it much.

"Word of mouth, mostly." Scott directs them to a table in the middle of the room and pours them both tea that smells strongly of lemon. "Once we had our first werewolf 'graduate' from here, word spread pretty quickly."

"And you just, like, teach them how to be werewolves?" Stiles asks, nudging his cup of tea to the side.

"We teach them how not to be monsters," Liam says quietly, and Stiles is taken aback. In his mind Liam's still the explosive freshman who was thrust into the supernatural world and had done everything in his power to escape from it. But now here he is, ten years older and a thousand years wiser. There's an air of maturity around him that Stiles hadn't noticed before.

They spend the afternoon at the training facility, watching some of the lessons. Liam even leads one, and Stiles is impressed both by the way he acts and by the way people act around him; the students here seem to really respect him, and he can handle a class of ten rowdy werewolves without a hitch.

"He's come a long way," Scott says appreciatively as he watches Liam referee a game of lacrosse, which is one of the ways they help the wolves work out their anger.

Stiles nods, watching Liam send someone off for tripping up another player. "He had a good teacher."

But somewhere in the back of Stiles' mind is an unwelcome thought: while Scott and Liam were here teaching others how to be werewolves, who was here to remind _them_ to be human?

/

"So," Isaac pants, struggling to keep up with Derek's swift pace, "you and Braeden still together?"

"Nine years this June," Derek replies, skirting around a stagnant pond and heading deeper into the trees. "On and off."

Isaac jumps over the pond, landing precariously on the other side, and then hurries after his former alpha. "So it's good, then? You and her?"

Derek glances back at him, his face impassive. "We make it work."

They fall silent as they keep walking, and they reach the cabin ten minutes later. The door is unlocked – Derek tells him it always is, since no one ever comes out this way – and the living room is as empty as they left it.

"Braeden's away for the week," Derek explains, sitting down in the rocking chair and leaving the armchair for Isaac. "She should be back on Monday."

"By then Ryan will be…" Isaac trails off, realizing what he'd been about to say, but it's too late to take it back. He's not as close to Ryan as the rest of the pack is, but even he's fond of the kid. And, Jesus, he's only seven; he hasn't even had a chance to live, but he's already lying on his deathbed. And Isaac doesn't have to be a werewolf to be able to sense the cloak of death on him, to be able to smell the sickness. Ryan isn't long for this world.

Derek clears his throat, made uncomfortable by anything remotely resembling sentimentality. "It's good to see everyone again," he says, but the words don't quite ring true. After he'd helped Scott set up the training facility, and once he'd been sure Scott could handle it, he'd left – not a word to anyone, not even a letter. Scott had tracked him down after a couple of weeks and tried to talk him into coming back to town, but Derek had resisted. This was the quiet life he'd always wanted, and he was adamant that he was going to enjoy it.

"Yeah," Isaac says absently, running through the list of pack members in his mind. He and Lydia had crossed paths in Paris a few years ago – around the time Malia had been there too, if he remembers correctly – but they haven't spoken much. He hasn't talked to Stiles since graduation. But he's worked with Scott and Malia, helping them out with their respective jobs, and he comes out to see Derek now and then. "It's strange to think how we've all changed. Especially when we used to be so close."

"We're still close, in a way," Derek says, his voice tinged with regret – although he wouldn't take back his life of solitude, he does miss the craziness of Beacon Hills sometimes. "It just takes a little more to bring us all together these days."

Isaac falls silent, wondering what, exactly, it would take to tear them apart.

/

The pack regroups at the hospital that evening, gathering in the waiting room for an update from the doctors before they go their separate ways. There's an air of tension about them, and it's more than just concern for Ryan. It's like they're not sure how they work as a pack, like they're still trying to work out how the puzzle pieces fit together – or if they even do at all. Lydia and Stiles are the first to leave, taking their tired kids with them, and Malia and Derek leave not long after. Melissa and John are staying the night, and Kira offers to go buy them a proper dinner. This leaves Scott and Isaac together in the waiting room, while Melissa and John are in with Ryan.

The two werewolves are quiet, contemplative, but it feels like the silence isn't entirely comfortable. Finally Isaac turns to his alpha and asks, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Scott asks wearily, already planning how early he'll have to get up tomorrow morning in order to get everything done.

"Everything." Isaac stretches, and Scott can hear his shoulder pop. "You're married, you run a training facility for newbie werewolves, and you're still keeping it all together, even when... well, when all this is happening."

Scott surveys him carefully, sensing more than a flicker of unease about him. "I do it because I have to," he says at last. He hesitates, and then adds, "You're lucky that you don't."

Isaac doesn't reply, because he's not sure how to; he admires Scott for everything he's doing, but – although he's never told this to anyone – he also envies him. It must be invigorating to wake up every morning with a sense of purpose, with people relying on you, with something to make each day more than just a chore.

His mind drifts to the past few years, going over all the people they've loved and lost, the battles they've fought and demons they've faced, and somehow he's still standing.

"Yeah," he says after a while, "I guess I am lucky."

/

Kira agonizes over what to get. She opts for Chinese, because it's nearby and because she knows both John and Melissa like it, and she's been to Scott's house often enough that she should know their orders off by heart. But the items on the menu seem to blur together and she can't tell them apart, and the names all sound so similar that eventually she just points at a few random things and orders them.

Twenty minutes later she's back in the car and heading to the hospital, the backseat laden with bags of takeout. At the first red light she reaches into the glove box, searching for a tissue, but her hand brushes up against a piece of paper instead. Curious, she pulls it out and looks at it. And immediately wishes she hadn't.

It's a picture of Scott, back when he was in high school – back before she met him. His eyes are wider and his smile is brighter and it doesn't seem like he's being crushed by the weight of the world. And, kissing him lightly on the cheek with a smile dancing across her face, is none other than Allison Argent.

With shaking hands she shoves the picture back in the glove box and starts driving the second the light turns green. She knows she can't outrun this, but even after all these years she's still not sure how to deal with it. They never talk about it, not really, but they all know: if Allison hadn't died, she and Scott would have ended up together. It's something Kira's painfully aware of, and Scott knows it too; he tries his best to compensate, treating Kira like absolute royalty, but it doesn't erase the memory of the brown-eyed hunter who fell in the battlefield all those years ago.

Kira's thoughts are still on Allison, and she's so distracted that she doesn't see the dog until it's too late. It sprints in front of her car and Kira barely has time to slam on the brakes. The car squeals to a stop, but not before she hears – and feels – a sickening crunch.

"Oh my god," she mutters, snapping her seatbelt open and jumping from the car. The dog is sprawled in the road, on its side, and she approaches cautiously, not wanting to startle it. But she's still a foot away when it springs up, glances at her, and sprints away; it's limping, but it's still too quick for her to catch.

And that's not the most alarming thing. Numb, Kira pulls her cell out of her pocket and calls Scott. When he picks up, she wastes no time. "Scott," she says, her voice shaking, "I think I just ran over a werewolf."

/

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**Challenge time: what do you think Lydia's hiding? I love when reviewers get involved, so the more of a response I get, the more motivated I might be to update. Hint: it's something heartbreaking. Yeah, even for me. Something I've never had in a story before, actually. So fire away.**

**Don't forget to review, preferably with guesses or questions, and I'll see you all next chapter.**


	5. the mistake

**Hey guys. I had wanted to keep y'all in suspense for a little bit longer, but you really stepped up last chapter and the response I got was amazing, so you deserve a quick update. Warning for this chapter: character death, depressing news, etc. Be prepared. Thank you all for the reviews last chapter, and for the interesting theories as to what Lydia's hiding - which you'll find out this chapter. A lot of things aren't explicitly stated in this story so if anything needs clarification just leave it in the reviews and I'll try to explain next chapter. So, onto the chapter, and I hope you enjoy.**

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/

Although it's been a long time since they've done this, it still feels familiar. They fall into their old roles easily enough; Kira recites the encounter while Scott listens intently and Stiles starts looking for clues, and clouds gather on the horizon, threatening rain.

"… and then it turned around and its eyes were yellow," Kira finishes, "beta-yellow."

Scott nods, taking in the information, and then closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The other two leave him to it, knowing that they'll never really be able to understand the whole werewolf-scent-tracking thing. After a while he opens his eyes, looking equal parts relieved and disappointed. "It doesn't smell like anyone I know," he says, "which means it's not someone at the training facility."

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, remembering a thousand past disasters, a thousand mysteries solved – and the price it cost them. "So it's a stranger," he says, and Scott nods again. "Can you still track it?"

"Yeah. I don't think it's gone very far. Come on." He shifts into his werewolf form – claws and fangs and all – and the others remember that werewolf senses are sharper in that form. He leads the way down the street and the others fall into line behind him, marvelling yet again at just how confident Scott is, how much he's grown into this role – how it's almost like it was made for him.

"We should call the - the others," Kira suggests after a while, stopping herself just before adding _the rest of the pack _because the label no longer seems quite right for them.

Scott delegates, calling Derek and Liam himself and leaving the others to call Lydia, Isaac, and Malia. Two minutes later, and Derek, Isaac, and Malia are on their way; the other two didn't pick up.

"That's not like her," Stiles mutters uneasily. "She always picks up."

"Maybe she's busy," Kira says, but she doesn't sound convincing even to her own ears.

"Liam's usually pretty good about it too," he says. "Did anyone see him leave the hospital?"

Kira and Stiles ponder this, and then shake their heads; no one's seen him in hours. And although he doesn't say anything, Scott finds it hard not to take it personally. He knows, logically, that there are a hundred good reasons behind Lydia and Liam not picking up. But there's another good reason, something he's been thinking ever since everyone got back into town: maybe he's not the alpha he thought he was.

/

"You can have one chocolate bar or one lollipop," Lydia says in the confectionery aisle, and her kids skitter off to collect their prizes – it was the only way she could bribe them into coming shopping with her. They're missing one of their favorite shows to do this, and nothing but the promise of sugar was enough to assuage them.

Five minutes later they're leaving the store, Allie sucking on a lollipop and Berry ripping open a Three Musketeers bar. Normally Lydia wouldn't take them out so late at night, especially now when she knows they're so exhausted from the long week, but they'd simultaneously run out of coffee and milk, which is a deadly combination – no caffeine for the parents and no Lucky Charms for the kids would mean a hell of a morning.

The parking lot is deserted, and the only sound is the faint beeping of the central locking as she unlocks the car. Lydia shoves the shopping bags into the trunk of the car, strangely soothed by the rustle of paper. It makes her feel, for just a moment, _normal_. Part of her had been worried that returning to Beacon Hills would be a disaster, that the place was still a beacon for the bizarre and supernatural and that they'd be caught right in the middle of it. Although she looked back fondly on her days as a supernatural crime-solver, she knows those days are long gone. She has a career now; she has a family. She hasn't even really used her banshee powers in years – except for one time last month, but she's doing her best not to think about it.

"Don't forget to buckle up," Lydia says as her kids scramble into the back seat and she reaches for the door handle. She stops. Her breath catches as a familiar sensation washes over her: fear. At first she doesn't understand what's caused it, but then she turns around and sees an unwelcomely familiar shape. It's been a long time since she's seen a fully-transformed werewolf, but between the monstrous size and the glowing eyes there's no mistaking it.

A voice from behind her makes her turn, and she sees Allie starting to get out of the car.

"No!" The word is almost a shriek and Lydia throws herself toward her daughter, shoving her back in and slamming the door. Allie stares at her in shock and Berry lets out something that sounds like a whimper, but Lydia ignores them and turns back to the werewolf in front of her.

It's not moving, just standing there, watching her. She's come across a couple of werewolves who were able to fully transform like this before, but they had always managed to cling onto their humanity, unable to stop it shining through in their eyes. But this wolf has none of that; the eyes are narrowed, animal-like, and it's sizing her up like it's wondering whether to eat her or just kill her for the heck of it.

Lydia stays where she is, feet firmly planted, keeping herself between the monster and her daughters. She remembers an agreement she and Stiles had made years ago – she wasn't to use her banshee powers, not unless she absolutely had to. Meredith – Berry's namesake – had taught her how to control them years ago, but even then her powers still seemed to control her. She got tired of screaming, and crying, and being the one with stranger's names on her lips and other people's blood on her hands. So she'd blocked the powers out and promised not to use them. Except in an emergency.

Blocking out the barrage of questions from her children, who can't see the werewolf from where they're sitting, Lydia closes her eyes and focuses. It turns out that some banshees are naturally more powerful, and these types can do more than predict death – they can cause it. Meredith had taught her how to channel the power and direct it toward an enemy; it had taken her a long time to master it, partly because it was a difficult skill and partly because they had to schedule it in between Meredith's group therapy sessions (she never had made it out of Eichen House), but she'd eventually got it. She hasn't used the power in years, not since the final battle with the Benefactor, and she just has to hope the skill isn't too rusty.

_It's just like riding a bike,_ she reminds herself, and then she gathers up her power and sends a concentrated blast of invisible energy toward the werewolf. Even before she opens her eyes she knows it worked – the werewolf yelps and she hears it start to retreat. But when she opens her eyes again the werewolf hasn't gone far; it's still watching her, albeit it more cautiously than before. There's a click behind Lydia, but she doesn't turn to face it. She keeps her eyes on the adversary, just like Scott had taught them all way back when.

There's a rumble of thunder in the distance, and then, in a flash, the werewolf lunges toward her. Lydia doesn't scream, doesn't step back. She just concentrates, and hits the wolf with another bolt of energy. It hits it in mid-air and the werewolf tumbles to the ground. Before she can hit it with another blast, it struggles to its feet and sprints away.

Only when it's out of sight does Lydia release the breath she'd been holding and turn back to the car.

Her children are standing behind her, wide-eyed, having seen the entire exchange. Lydia's heart falls to the floor; she'd tried so hard to keep her kids out of the supernatural, and she'd hoped she'd never have to tell them about Beacon Hills and everything that had happened here. And yet here she is, dragging them into the middle of it.

"Come on, girls," she says, ushering them back into the car, "let's get out of here."

They obey her instructions, and as she slides into the driver's seat and glances at them in the rear-view mirror, she tries to ignore the fear that's shining in their eyes.

Because if she acknowledges that, she's going to have to consider whether they're scared of the wolf – or scared of her.

/

After murmuring an apology and excuse in the same breath, Isaac leaves Melissa and John at the hospital. They've both been aware of the supernatural for years, so he could have told them where he's really going, but he doesn't want to worry them. They already have a terminally ill child; he doesn't need to bother them with another supernatural crisis. It's been so long since there's _been_ a supernatural crisis that it takes Isaac a while to fall back into the routine. Sure, there's the occasional mishap at Scott's training facility or Malia's finishing school, but there haven't been any nogitsune-level or Benefactor-bad disasters. But Scott's already on the case, and that means they should be able to deal with whatever – or whoever – it is.

He meets up with Malia a couple streets away from the hospital; they're both on foot, half-transformed so they can move more quickly, and she just dips her head and falls into step beside him. They run side by side for a while, and then he gives her a sideways look and says, "What did Scott tell you?"

"Same as you, probably," Malia replies, surprisingly nonchalant given the circumstances. "Werewolf on the loose – glowing eyes, brown fur, dash of white in its tail. Last seen near the -"

"Wait." Isaac skids to a stop and Malia keeps going for a few paces, before reluctantly slowing down and turning to him. She's still running on the spot, evidently eager to continue the search. "Did you say the wolf had white in its tail?"

"Yeah." Malia tilts her head, curious. "Why? Does that mean something to you?"

Isaac tries to speak but can't find the words. Instead he starts moving again, knowing that they need to get there fast. "It means I know who the wolf is," he grits out eventually, and Malia glances over at him in surprise. "And it means we have to get there before Scott kills him."

/

"What are you going to do when you find it?" Kira asks from the backseat; Lydia had just called, saying that the wolf was just near the supermarket. And, if the tremor in the other woman's voice is any indication, it sounds like the wolf was definitely not there for benign purposes.

"I'm going to stop it," Scott says grimly, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, "no matter what it takes."

Kira doesn't respond, but she shares a look with Stiles. At times she feels like she doesn't even know her husband; they've been through so much together, and not just the supernatural stuff. They've done it all – traveled across the country, honeymooning in Italy, babysitting for Melissa and John, wine tasting with other married couples. They've been supernatural heroes and they've been a simple domestic couple, and still there's a part of Scott that she's never quite been able to reach, like everything that had happened, everything he'd had to do, has made him shut part of himself off from the world. He'll do what it takes to stop this werewolf – and, if she's honest, that scares her a little bit.

They reach the supermarket at the same time as Derek, and they automatically split into their old pairs. Derek starts to scent-track the wolf, and Scott and Stiles stay to make sure Lydia and the kids are okay before they follow suit. Kira's left to help Lydia, Allie, and Berry, since none of them have any fighting ability – or at least, Lydia doesn't have a fighting ability she uses. The kids are curled up on the backseat, talking quietly, and Lydia's leaning against the car, looking like she's trying not to scream.

"You okay?" Kira asks, and the banshee shrugs. Kira's gaze slides toward the kids in the car and she asks, "Are they okay?"

Lydia looks at her children, and her expression softens for a second. Then a kind of hardness comes into her eyes, and Kira doesn't understand what it is – self-hatred – until the other woman speaks. "They saw me use my banshee powers," she says, her voice as hard as her eyes. "I think…" She lowers her voice, and, still looking at her children, finishes, "I think they're scared of me."

Not knowing what else to do, Kira wraps her up into a hug, and Lydia relaxes into the embrace. They'd become quite close during high school, but had lost touch after that; but now, in some ways, it's like no time has passed.

"I've seen you with them, Lydia," Kira says as they pull apart. "You're a brilliant mom, and I think they know you were just looking out for them."

Lydia doesn't reply directly; instead she sighs, her hand drifting down to her stomach seemingly unconsciously. Kira follows the movement and Lydia instantly moves her hand, but it's too late.

The kitsune doesn't ask a question, not verbally at least, but she raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

For a split second Lydia debates lying to her or brushing it off, but she's been keeping this to herself for so long and she needs to tell someone. "I'm pregnant," she whispers, and it's almost as if saying the words aloud make them true. Her voice trembles as she adds quickly, "Please don't tell Stiles. I can't – he can't find out. Not yet."

Halfway through congratulating her friend, Kira stops. Something doesn't feel right; there's no joy in Lydia's eyes, only pain and a hint of fear. "Why don't you want him to find out?" she asks gently.

"When Meredith was training me to use my powers," Lydia says slowly, "she helped me magnify it, so that I could sense deaths farther into the future. And the effect is even greater if I'm directly related to the person."

Kira listens silently, dread swirling in her stomach.

"So if I'm related to them, I can predict deaths that will happen a long time in the future." She swallows, unable to believe she's about to utter the words. "Say, eight months in the future."

In the silence that follows, Kira can practically hear Lydia's heart break.

/

It's chaos when Scott, Stiles, and Derek finally catch up to the werewolf. It seems to have headed into town, and it's currently hunting down a group of high school kids who are backed into a corner. Scott does the only thing he can think of: he howls. The wolf turns, and the kids all manage to slip away. The wolf's attention is all on Scott now, and he and Derek shift, while Stiles steps back.

There's a long, tense pause, and then the wolf lunges for them. Scott has one clear look at its eyes – they're wild, bright blue, entirely inhuman. He makes a snap decision, ducks out of the way of the attack, and then slams the wolf into the ground. From his pocket he pulls out a knife – a gift from Deaton, years ago – and aims it –

"Scott! _No_!"

He stabs the wolf through the chest, and the blue in its eyes flickers and goes out. The breathing slows and then stops, and the beast goes still. Stiles pulls Scott to his feet, ignoring the fact that his best friend is once again covered in blood. Scott wipes the knife on his jeans and then tucks it back into his belt, and then turns toward the speaker.

Isaac is standing a couple of feet away, looking like he's frozen in place. "Scott -"

"I had to do it," Scott says, his heart snapping even as he says it. That werewolf had been a person too; he'd had to kill them, but it doesn't make it any easier. "There was no choice."

"You don't understand." Isaac's voice is broken, and Malia looks like she's close to tears.

That, more than anything, makes Scott realize that he's missing something. "What is it?" he asks, and suddenly the knife feels heavy in his pocket and the scent of blood is overwhelming.

Isaac's eyes slide past Scott and land on the wolf. "That wasn't a random werewolf," Isaac says, so softly the others can hardly hear it. And when he says his next words, they all wish they hadn't been able to hear it. "That was Liam."

/

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**So, yeah. Everything's about to go to hell now. Hit me with your thoughts and theories and I'll try to update soon. :)**


	6. the fallout

**Coupla things. First, thank you for all the reviews. Second, yes, dead babies (well, just one). Third, a response to the guest who asked for more Scira. For one thing, I recently published 'choice', an entirely Scira one-shot (and I don't recall seeing your review there?). For another, I'm not currently taking prompts, and even if I were I would take them via PM and hopefully with more specifics than just a pairing - because if I have inspiration to write for a pairing, I will write it, and not because I'm asked to. If you meant more Scira in this story, as I've said before, this is pre-written, so asking for more or less of one thing or another will not get you that. And finally, if you're going to comment on a story and ask for something else, the least you could do is comment on the story you're 'reviewing', because otherwise it's a little bit like you're taking that author's work for granted, which is not a great feeling. /rant**

***deep breath***

**Okay. This is my favorite chapter of the story, and one of my favorites in any TW fic I've written. Pack feels, tension, cliffhanger ending - it's got it all. So enjoy, and don't forget to review.**

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/

At first everything seems the same; they're at the hospital by nine, and the grown-ups have all dispersed, breaking off into their natural groups and doing whatever it is they do. Allie and Berry are in the waiting room, Kira watching over them, and it's quieter than it was yesterday but nothing seems too unusual. Berry is organizing the colored blocks in a rainbow, while Allie is trying to do a handstand against the wall. Kira's eyes are bright with worry as she watches the two children, and she keeps shooting glances down the hall.

The lights overhead are flickering, and every now and then Berry looks up at them in mild annoyance. Allie, meanwhile, tries to blink in time to the lights, her eyelids flickering open and closed rapidly. After a while she gives up on her attempts at gymnastics and approaches her sister, who holds up a finger to silence her until she's arranged her blocks.

"Do the grown-ups seem strange to you?" Allie asks, plopping down on the floor next to her sister. She picks up the nearest block and tosses it back and forth in her hands, ignoring the pained whimper from Berry.

"No." Berry reaches for the block and sets it neatly back in place, and Allie picks up the next one and keeps talking, rolling the block along the floor absently.

"They're all kind of quiet," she says, reaching for another block. Berry swats her hand away. "I think something's bothering them. Something they don't want to tell us about."

"They probably have a good reason," Berry says, abandoning her blocks and turning her full attention to her sister. "Don't you dare say that we should -"

"- go find out what they're hiding," Allie finishes, her eyes brightening. She glances at Kira and then looks back at her sister. "Come on. She's distracted reading that magazine. We can go find Mom and Dad and see what's wrong."

"We're not supposed to leave the waiting room," Berry protests, but her voice is quiet and her argument lacks conviction.

"We're also supposed to be in school right now," Allie points out, "but everything's different now."

Berry doesn't answer, but Allie knows she's won. She stands up and pulls her sister to her feet, and they dart from the room, right out from under Kira's nose.

/

They split up at the end of the hall; Allie takes a left and then a right, and she finds some of their group in an empty room. She can make out Scott's voice right away, and Isaac's sharp response, and a lower voice that she thinks must be Derek's – she hasn't had much to do with him, but there's been a time or two he's made the trek up to New England and seen them. They're all talking quietly, and Allie starts toward the room, intending to ask Scott what's going on; she's not sure why, but Scott seems to be in charge of their little group. But she stops at the edge of the door, drawing back against the wall so she can hear without being seen. Something tells her she shouldn't interrupt.

"… didn't have to kill him," Isaac is saying, his voice low like rolling thunder.

"There was no other choice," Scott shoots back, and there's something like a growl in his voice, something that makes Allie flinch.

"There's always a choice." Isaac seems to spit the words out like watermelon seeds, and a long silence follows them.

"Look," Derek says carefully, "the fact is, Liam's dead. Does it really matter whose fault it is?"

"Yes," Scott and Isaac say in unison, and Derek doesn't speak again.

"You saw his eyes – he'd already killed somebody," Scott says, and Allie feels something stirring inside her, something pushing against the inside of her skin, like a trapped butterfly straining against a net. "And he was about to kill us. I had to do it."

"You could have just stopped him," Isaac protests. "Held him, hit him, tied him up. Something that didn't involve shoving a knife into his -"

"Isaac," Derek scolds, and the younger man falls silent.

"You're right," Scott says after a moment's pause. "I could have tried to subdue him. But the chances are that it wouldn't have worked, and he might have hurt someone else. I didn't want to risk that. I've seen what happens when a werewolf goes rogue, and I couldn't risk that kind of damage."

"So you stabbed him?" Isaac says, and the words roll over Allie like crashing waves, making her feel cold and very small.

"Guys, enough," Derek says, but there's no stopping the younger two.

"It's not easy being alpha," Scott says tersely, "but someone has to make the hard decisions, and since I don't see any of you stepping up to do it, it might as well be me."

"What happened to you, Scott?" Isaac's words drip with sadness, despite the sharp edges. "You used to be a good guy. You used to look out for everyone. You did what was right for us -"

"This was right for us, whether or not you can see that," Scott cuts in. "I did what I had to do -"

"It's not the way Allison would have done it," Isaac says quickly, and Allie doesn't really understand but from the heavy silence that follows she knows he must have said something very bad.

After a long moment Scott storms from the room and disappears down the hall, without even noticing Allie. She stays where she is, frozen to the spot by confusion and a hint of fear. Inside the room, she hears someone sigh.

"He didn't deserve that," Derek says quietly.

Isaac's response is even quieter. "I know."

Allie peels herself from the wall and sneaks down the hall, wondering why the adults are taking their game of make-believe so seriously.

/

It feels like Berry's been walking forever, but maybe it's less to do with the actual distance and more to do with the aching in her legs, in her bones, in her muscles – a kind of dim throb, from the constant sitting down and the nights spent in an uncomfortable bed. She stretches out her arms as she walks, brushing her fingertips along one of the walls, dodging the abstract paintings of flowers and fruit bowls. She comes to a corner and starts to turn left, but then she glances right. Her feet still and her hand falls to her side.

There are a couple of plastic orange chairs against the wall up ahead, and she can see the two people sitting in them. One of the people is her dad, and he's resting his hand on her mom's knee. They're both quiet, not looking at each other, not speaking. Dread prickles at Berry's skin and she stays glued to the spot, like her feet are stuck in mud. There's something unbearably sad about the whole scene, and she would give anything for her mother to look up at her and smile, or for her father to scoop her up in his arms and carry her away. But something tells her that isn't going to happen.

A long minute passes, and then another, and then her father speaks.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks, his words drifting down the short hallway like smoke. Somehow he hasn't noticed his daughter yet, although she's suddenly wishing she were anywhere but here.

"What was I supposed to say?" her mom replies tiredly. "I knew how it was going to end. I couldn't burden you with that."

"It's not a burden," he says, his hand wrapping around hers, "it's life. You're my wife and you should be able to tell me things like this."

Her mom doesn't reply, and her dad puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her toward him. "It's okay," he murmurs, almost too softly for Berry to hear, "it's okay."

He kisses her on the forehead and she closes her eyes, and even from here Berry can see the tears trickling down her face.

"I don't want to live like this, Stiles," her mom says, still with her eyes closed. She leans against her husband, nuzzling into his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "I don't want to have these powers or have to use them or have to keep coming up with excuses so that our daughters don't find out that I'm -"

"Shh," her dad says quietly, kissing her on the forehead again and rubbing her back, "don't do this to yourself, Lyds."

Berry knows she should be curious, she should wonder what her parents are talking about and why they don't want to tell her about it, but all she feels is sad. The kind of sad that tastes sour in her mouth, that makes tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," her mom says into her dad's shoulder. They're so absorbed in each other that they don't notice Berry, and she's secretly glad; she almost doesn't want to know what can cause her father to look so worried or her mother to look so broken. "I thought…" Her voice trails off, and she takes a deep breath and tries again. "I thought it was going to be a girl. I was… I was going to name her Claudia."

For the first time in her life, Berry watches her father cry. Without a word she slips back down the hall, wiping tears from her eyes and wishing there was something she could do to make her parents happy.

/

The girls arrive back at the waiting room at the same time, to a frantic Kira who scolds them for running off. They apologize and settle back down into their corner, playing with the colored blocks, and Kira makes sure to watch them more carefully.

"We could pick her some flowers," Berry suggests, carefully stacking blocks in a red-blue-yellow order. "Mom always likes that."

"There aren't any gardens here," Allie points out sadly, stacking a green block on top of the red; Berry doesn't bother fixing it. "We could draw them a picture."

A spark flashes between them and they hurriedly snatch up a spare piece of paper and all the colored crayons they can find. For the next half hour they sketch and color and fill the page with rainbows, and at the very least it cheers both of them up. But their parents aren't back by the time they finish, so they rest the finished drawing on a chair near the door and start searching for a new activity.

For a while they play a made-up game, where both girls are knights with shining swords and brave hearts and they're fighting to win the crown, but Kira tells them – rather more harshly than she normally would – to keep it down.

Allie finds a book they haven't read yet and holds it up to Kira. "Aunt Kira, will you read us a book?"

The woman sighs, looking half-asleep. "Maybe later, girls."

In typical Martin-Stilinski style, they don't take no for an answer. To her credit Kira puts up with it for a couple minutes, but then she loses patience. "Just leave me alone, girls," she snaps, just as the girls' parents come back into the room.

Allie and Berry fall silent, shocked, and don't even listen to their mother snap back at Kira, telling her not to talk to her kids like that. The open door has caused their picture to flutter to the floor, and it's now being crushed under Stiles' feet. The girls share a look, and in that moment they both think that maybe it's not their job to fix their parents after all.

/

The kitchen is almost deserted, and the Jell-O carts unattended. After years of presenting the perfect image, one of self-control and moderation, Malia's had it. The pack's falling apart, so it shouldn't matter if she does too. She grabs a bowl of Jell-O in both hands, plonks herself down in the nearest seat in the hall, and digs in. She hasn't had Jell-O in years, and she'd forgotten how good the explosion of sugar could taste. She quickly devours the first bowl, and is just turning her attention to the second when she senses someone coming up to her.

Without even looking at her, Malia knows that Kira is upset; frustration and indignation radiate off her, making Malia feel uncomfortable. The kitsune hesitates and then seems like she's about to keep walking, but Malia catches her eye and then drops her gaze to the empty chair beside her.

Kira sinks into it, sighing, and Malia feels a wave of sympathy for her pack mate. They haven't spoken in years, but they're still loyal to each other, still part of the same family.

"Trouble in paradise?" Malia asks, digging a spoon into her second bowl of Jell-O.

Kira grimaces. "Do you ever just want one perfect, stress-free, supernatural-free day?"

Malia laughs around a mouthful of Jell-O. "They actually exist?"

"Might be an urban myth," Kira mutters. A few minutes pass in companionable silence, and then Kira says, "Do you think you'll ever have kids?"

"Me, a mother?" Malia snorts. "Definitely not." She pauses, looking at her friend. "What about you?"

"I used to think I'd want to have children," Kira says slowly, "but now I'm not so sure I'd be a good mother."

"You know," Malia says, scooping up another spoonful of Jell-O, "coyotes only look after their offspring for about thirty five days. Then they're left to fend for themselves."

"Seems like a good system," Kira says with a smile, remembering how even months after her reintroduction to human society, Malia was still having trouble mastering her coyote-upbringing. She exhales slowly, already thinking about how to apologize to Lydia and Stiles for snapping at the kids. "Thanks," she says, and she means it.

"Coyotes reach sexual maturity at twelve months, too," Malia adds, and Kira's smile turns into a grimace.

"Too far, Mali," she says good-naturedly.

Malia shrugs and offers her the rest of her Jell-O, and the two fall back into silence.

/

Isaac and Derek stay away from the waiting room, away from the rest of the pack; even after all this time they're still almost on the outside, never entirely sure of their place. Neither of them feel like talking, so their drink their horrible hospital coffee in silence for a while. Then Isaac crumples up the paper cup and turns to Derek.

"Braeden left, didn't she?" he asks, and Derek doesn't seem surprised by the question.

"Three months ago," Derek responds, his head hanging slightly, and Isaac feels a pang of sympathy for him.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Isaac asks.

Derek shrugs, but it looks hard, like there's a weight on his shoulders that he can't quite rid himself of. "They all have their own stuff to worry about," he says, and it's as simple as that.

It seems like they all have their own things to worry about, and maybe it's time for them to go their separate ways.

/

Somehow the pack all ends up back in the waiting room. Allie and Berry are sitting quietly in the corner, stacking blocks with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Scott and Kira are near the door, their voices becoming more and more aggressive. Derek and Malia are sitting against the far wall, with Isaac by himself a little way away. Stiles and Lydia are sitting down opposite them, having a hushed but heated conversation.

"I just wanted to see you if were okay," Kira's saying, her voice ragged around the edges.

"I'm fine," Scott snaps, "so just stop trying to fix me. I'm not one of your patients."

"I never said you were, I just thought I could help."

"Well, you can't."

Kira takes a step back, as if the words physically hurt her. "Scott, I've never doubted you, not once," she says, lowering her voice and folding her arms, "but I'm worried about you. After everything that's happened -"

"Everything that's happened?" Scott repeats, and his words would be harsh if they weren't so weary. "You can say it, Kira. After all the people who have died."

"Fine." Kira huffs, more agitated than she can remember being in months. "I don't think you ever got over her death, and I think it's still affecting you more than you let on."

"You can say her name," Scott says stiffly.

"I don't need to," Kira says, the ragged edges of her voice cutting against him like broken glass, "you say it every night in your sleep. I bet you didn't know that, did you?"

Scott's eyes widen and an apology dies on his lips, because they both know that it's far too late for that.

"I just don't think he should have done it," Isaac says to Derek and Malia, who murmur non-committal responses.

"He had no choice," Stiles says across the room. "It was his call and personally I think he made the right one -"

"By killing someone?" Isaac says.

"Isaac!" Lydia snaps, with a horrified look at her children, who seem oblivious to the arguments raining down around them.

"I'm sorry, but it's true," he says, although he does lower his voice slightly.

"Now isn't the time to argue about this," Stiles says, glaring at the werewolf.

"Of course it's not the right time," Isaac says, "there's never a right time, because we're spread across the country and we're hardly even a pack anymore -"

"_Isaac_," Lydia interjects again.

"It doesn't matter," Stiles says heatedly. "None of this matters, not when there's a _kid_ – my freaking _brother_ – dying in a hospital room just across the hall. So why don't you just take one of your stupid scarves and -"

At this point Lydia shoots to her feet, a gasp catching in her throat. Nobody notices as she slips from the room, but a second later Allie looks up, a curious expression on her face. She rests a hand across the place where her heart is, and she thinks she can feel it stutter.

"What is it?" Berry asks in concern.

"I don't know," Allie says, uncharacteristically quiet, "I just feel like… like something really bad is going to happen."

Arguments rage on around them, but a minute later the door opens. John and Melissa are standing there, Lydia a step behind them. Their grim faces are announcement enough, and everyone in the room stops talking at once, all arguments forgotten as something more important takes their place.

John leans against the doorframe, like the words are weighing him down and he doesn't trust himself to stay standing. His words fall to the floor like stones. "It's time to say goodbye."

/

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**Remember that the more reviews I get, the quicker I update, so let me know your thoughts and I'll see you all soon!**


	7. the long goodbye

**Deliberately short chapter; stylistic choice. Enjoy, review, see you next time.**

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/

Its 4.03 on Friday afternoon, and Ryan's room is filled with people. His mom and dad are on one side of him and his brothers, Scott and Stiles, are on the other side. Scattered around the room are the rest of his makeshift family: Isaac, Malia, Kira, Derek, Allie, Berry. Nobody's talking, but the silence isn't as overwhelming as it usually is; if anything, it feels comforting.

Then Ryan's eyes start drifting closed and he can hear his mother talking, but it's muffled by something that sounds like tears. She's murmuring about how much she loves him, how much they all do, and he squeezes her hand to tell her that he already knows.

He can remember, a couple weeks ago, his mother told him all about wolves after he watched a documentary on them. She told him all about how they live in families called packs, how they take care of their own, how they hunt and fight and sleep and travel together. A couple days ago he'd told all this to Scott and Stiles, who'd listened intently, and then they'd disappeared to the gift shop and returned with a stuffed wolf toy. He named it Peter, in honor of his best friend, and for some reason his brothers found that hilarious.

Clutching Peter to his chest with one hand, and with his parents holding his other hand, and with his friends and family surrounding him, Ryan drifts off to sleep.

And as he does, he thinks that he was lucky to have these people in his life, like his very own wolf pack.

It's 4.09 on Friday afternoon, and Ryan Christopher Stilinski-McCall is officially pronounced dead.

/

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**Sorry not sorry.**


	8. the cabin revisited

**Not much of a response last chapter, but I guess that's what I get for killing a seven year old kid. Anyway. There's one more chapter after this, so I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.**

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/

A month after Ryan's death, things have finally started to go back to normal. And somehow, miraculously, the pack is still together.

/

Derek sits in the rocking chair in his living room, watching Allie and Berry tumble around the house playing some invented game that involves a lot of howling and the occasional shriek while their parents are in the kitchen; Stiles shouts out "Careful, you guys!" every now and then and Lydia giggles, sounding more carefree than she's been in weeks. Scott and Kira are watching them too, and with his werewolf-hearing Derek can just hear their quiet conversation.

"You're great with them, you know," Scott murmurs, inclining his head toward the kids as they hurtle past. He pauses, and then, without looking at his wife, says, "We should do it too. Have kids, I mean."

Kira's eyes light up, and so does her aura – streaks of red and orange foxfire shoot from her like sparks, making Derek smile. She's learned to control her aura, to hide it if need be, but in moments of intense emotion – like excitement – it seems to happen of its own accord. "Really?" she asks.

"Sure," Scott says easily, kissing her gently on the temple. "It's about time we added some more cubs to this pack."

The foxfire around Kira seems to shimmer, this time with something a little different to excitement. She drops her voice even lower and says, "You know, Derek has a spare bedroom down the hall."

Derek averts his gaze and shuts off his wolf-hearing, and a second later Kira and Scott do indeed disappear down the hall – but not before Scott pauses to wink at him, knowing he'd been eavesdropping.

As the kids sprint past again, this time with Allie yelling something about being a warrior princess, Derek starts to make his way into the kitchen. Stiles is sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee and a weary but hopeful glint in his eyes. Lydia is standing by the stove, cooking dinner for everyone – it looks like there's enough pasta to feed a small army, not to mention more loaves of bread than can even fit comfortably on the bench.

"Derek, hand me that jar of garlic, would you?" Lydia asks, darting a look over her shoulder.

He does as instructed, and she takes it from him with a grateful smile. A moment later Malia appears from a side room, holding a spice rack and looking incredibly confused. She sees Derek and narrows her eyes.

"What kind of system is this?" she asks, gesturing to the spice rack as she sets it down on the table in front of Stiles, who gives an exaggerated sneeze. "You've got thyme in the rosemary jar, and you've mixed the oregano and sage, and don't even get me started on the paprika -"

With a groan, Derek turns to Lydia. "What did you do to my cousin?"

"Hey, that wasn't me," Lydia says defensively, but the effect is ruined by the smile she can't quite hide. "She's been running a finishing school for supernatural creatures for practically the past decade. Of course she's going to be organized."

"There's a difference between being organized and being anal," Derek responds, but he's laughing too.

"Good luck with that, by the way," Stiles says as Isaac enters the room, and Isaac just rolls his eyes and pulls Malia into a kiss.

"There are kids in the next room," Lydia scolds, mock-stern. "Keep it PG-13, okay, guys?"

"Sorry," Isaac mumbles against Malia's lips, and then he pulls away, grabs her hand, and leads her to the door. "We'll be back in time for dinner. We're just going for a walk."

"Don't go all coyote and start hunting rabbits again!" Stiles calls after them, and Malia glares at him over her shoulder.

"That was _one_ time," she mutters as they disappear from sight.

"You're out of thyme, by the way," Lydia says, pointing at the spice rack. Moments before, it had been full, but now the only thing in it is a small jar full of something that looks suspiciously like wolfsbane.

Frowning, he goes to open it, but Stiles snatches it away before he can. "No way, dude. I'm not letting you take that cure."

"Cure?" Derek asks, his hand falling to his side and his eyebrows raised in a question. "What cure?"

"The one Deaton's been working on," Lydia says matter-of-factly, handing him a bowl of salad and ushering him out of the room. "And don't let Scott take it either."

Still confused, Derek takes the bowl of salad out into the living room and sets it down on the table. Almost as soon as he's done so, Allie comes barrelling into the room, trips over her own feet, and crashes into the table. The bowl – thankfully plastic – clatters to the ground, spilling lettuce and tomato across the floor. Allie blinks up at him, flicking parsley off her legs, and gives him an apologetic grin.

Before Derek can do anything Lydia walks into the room, arms folded and eyes narrowed. "Allison Martin-Stilinski, what on earth are you doing?"

Allie's grin falters and she scrambles to her feet, looking helplessly at Derek.

"It was my fault," Derek says quickly, already starting to scoop the remains of the salad back into the bowl. "I accidentally knocked it over."

Lydia's eyes narrow further, like she's not sure she should believe it, but she doesn't push the issue. "Allison, go play outside," she says, and as Berry creeps into the room she adds, "You too, Meredith."

Registering the use of their full names, her daughters quickly do as told.

"I'll do that," Lydia says, crouching down and taking over the clean-up. She brushes some hair out of her eyes and asks, "Would you mind watching the girls outside? God knows what kind of trouble they can get into."

"They _are_ Stiles' children," Derek agrees with a chuckle, standing up and stretching before making his way outside.

The girls are darting in and out of the trees, brandishing sticks and growling at each other, and Derek sits down on the front step to watch them. This is the first time the entire pack has been at his house, and even though he normally likes the quiet, sometimes he does need this kind of cheerful chaos. They're still a pack, after all, and it's comforting to spend time with them. After all this time, they're still a pack, and no matter how far they roam they'll always find their way back to each other.

About half an hour later, when the girls are finally tired and Derek is starting to get hungry, Isaac and Malia return from their walk, flushed and grinning. Derek doesn't bother asking what they've been doing.

"I found you some more thyme," Malia announces, dropping a sprig of something into Derek's hands.

"This isn't thyme," he says in confusion, letting it fall to the ground. As soon as it hits the dirt, he loses sight of it. He looks up to say something else, but Malia and Isaac are already gone. With a sigh he gets to his feet and starts to shepherd Allie and Berry inside, back to the rest of the pack.

"Everything's going to be okay," Allie says as she steps past him and heads for the door.

"What are you, psychic?" Derek asks with a grin.

She turns back to him, flashes him a smile, and says, "I'm something."

Then she and her sister disappear into the house and Derek follows suit.

But as soon as he opens the door, he realizes he's alone. His house is empty, no sign of spilled salad and no scent of pasta and no sounds of laughter. He's alone, like he always is, and as a voice murmurs in his ear _There's no more thyme_, he wakes up. The glowing clock that reads 3.23 am is the only thing that breaks the darkness, and the sound of his breathing is the only thing that breaks the silence.

And the empty house is the one thing that breaks his heart.

/

In the month after Ryan's death, things have shifted and changed so much that nothing will ever be the same. And somehow, eventually, the pack has completely disintegrated.

/

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**Join me next chapter as it all falls apart. Don't forget to review, and I'll see you next time!**

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	9. the end

**In case you were wondering, this is how to tear things apart even more.**

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/

The note in the middle of Derek's kitchen counter reads:

_I'm sorry I couldn't stay. Beacon Hills is no place for someone like me. You're welcome to use the cabin as much as you want – I won't be needing it anymore. The door's unlocked._

_-D_

He leaves when it's still dark, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a well of memories in his heart. He doesn't look back.

/

Time is relative. Seven years with their son felt like the blink of an eye to Melissa and John, and the four weeks they've spent without him have felt like an eternity.

"Here," John says, handing her the last pair of Ryan's pants.

She tucks them into the box, seals it with masking tape, and sighs.

"I can drop it off tomorrow," John offers.

Melissa shakes her head, staring at the box. She'd dragged it up from the basement, where it's been since they moved here two years ago; Ryan, then aged five, had insisted on writing his own name on the box which was to carry his most prized possessions – his collection of dinosaur toys. He hadn't quite mastered the art of writing yet, so the _a_ in his name is backwards and the _R_ is so wobbly it looks more like a _B_.

"We can do it together," Melissa says, brushing her fingers along the name, imagining she can feel Ryan's hand against hers, his voice in her ear, his hair tickling her noise.

John pulls her to her feet and they leave his room, letting the door swing closed behind them.

"You should go to sleep," Melissa says to her husband, realizing how tired he looks.

He glances at the clock, stifling a groan when he sees that it's after three am. After the loss of their child time seemed to lose all meaning; sleeping habits fell out the window; everything else got put on hold.

"Six hours until the real estate agent is here for the final check," Melissa says wearily as they head into the kitchen.

"This time next week we'll be in a town two hours away," John reminds her, starting to boil water so he can make them both tea – or coffee, given that they'll have to be up in a few hours anyway.

"I can't believe we're leaving this town," Melissa muses, sinking into the chair at the kitchen table and resting her head in her hands. "It feels like we've been here for a lifetime."

"We have," John says, giving her a tired smile.

And maybe that's the point; they've been here for a lifetime, and they need to start their new life somewhere else. It won't be a clean break or a fresh start, but it's the best they can hope for.

At exactly 3.23, just when they're both considering going to bed, something happens. John, his cup halfway to his mouth, suddenly freezes; Melissa, holding onto Ryan's stuffed wolf, Peter, stiffens. They share a look, some unspoken understanding of the disaster that's befallen them. It shoots through Melissa's veins and stabs John in the heart, and without a word they embrace each other, knowing that they only have each other left now.

/

There's a quiet knock on Malia's door and she considers feigning sleep, but before she can make up her mind the door opens and someone walks in. Without even opening her eyes she knows who it is, and she slides over in the bed to make room for him. Isaac curls up beside her, a routine they've fallen into over the past couple of days, and for a few beats there's silence.

"You okay?" Malia mumbles after a while, and she feels Isaac stiffen, just slightly.

"The fact that I'm here," he says, running a lazy hand through her hair, "should be enough of an answer to that question."

Malia sighs, turning to face him. His eyes are dull, missing the spark she'd come to know so well, and even his words are lifeless, like he's just going through the motions.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," she says cautiously, and Isaac's expression becomes guarded but he doesn't stop her. "You knew Liam was training to become a full wolf, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Isaac says, his words still soft, now with a hint of something close to pain. He remembers helping Scott dig Liam's grave, remembers the pack gathering around to say their goodbyes. He remembers it all, and he needs a way to forget.

"Do you think there's a way we could do that?" Malia asks, her voice thick with sleep even though her eyes are bright. "Learn how to control it?"

"There's an instructor at Scott's facility," Isaac says slowly, "the guy who taught Liam. He says it's hard, but it's not impossible. So," he shrugs, "maybe we could."

Malia closes her eyes, listening to his heartbeat, his steady breathing, and she imagines what it would be like to be a coyote again. "I wouldn't come back," she says, and by the way Isaac's eyes soften she knows he understands.

"Maybe I wouldn't either." He adjust his position so that he's lying on his back, hands behind his head, starting at the ceiling. Malia rests her head against his chest, comforted by the gentle rise and fall. "I've got a question for you now."

She looks up at him. "Yeah?"

"Scott told me that Deaton found a cure," he says, "for being a werewolf."

When he doesn't continue, Malia states the obvious. "That's not a question."

Isaac chuckles, his hand drifting up to tangle in her hair again. "My question is: would you ever take it?"

Malia doesn't answer right away; she runs through all the possibilities in her mind, the ins and outs of being a werecoyote – the promise of something better, tainted by the chance of something so much worse.

"Maybe," she says at last, the only honest answer she can give. "What about you?"

She feels Isaac's heart skip a beat – just one – and then he takes a deep breath. "I already did."

Somehow this isn't surprising, and Malia opens her mouth to reply but then cuts herself off, feeling something like horror clenching around her heart. She looks at the clock; 3.23 am.

"Do you feel that?" she asks, suddenly terrified.

Isaac's hand stills, and then he keeps stroking her hair. "No," he admits quietly into the night, "I don't feel anything."

/

The zip on the suitcase closes with the finality of a coffin lid, and Lydia stares at the bag for a full minute before she can force herself to grab the handle. The wheels are a muffled whisper on the carpet as she drags it down the hallway, careful not to bump into anything lest she wake anyone up. She pauses outside the girls' room, but she can't bring herself to look in there; she can't change her mind. She thinks of the note she left on her side of the bed, of what Stiles will think when he reads it.

And then she thinks it doesn't matter, because Stiles is standing in front of the door with hurt and accusation shining in his eyes.

"You're leaving?" he says, his eyes falling onto her suitcase.

Lydia's heart catches in her throat and she struggles for a response; they've had the same argument a thousand times before, every possible variation of it, and there's nothing new to say. The only thing left is to act. "I'm sorry," she says, but it comes out less of an apology and more like a plea, like some part of her still thinks they can fix this.

"Don't go." His eyes are wide and pleading, and Lydia tears her gaze away, unable to bear the thought of causing him so much pain. "Please, Lyds, don't go."

"I have to." Her grip on the suitcase handle tightens. "Stiles, you saw what happened in Beacon Hills. We've tried so hard to keep the girls out of the supernatural, but we can't."

"We can keep trying," he pleads. "We don't need to go back to Beacon Hills. We can stay here and rebuild our life, away from anything supernatural -"

"No," Lydia says, her voice shaky but her eyes firm, "we can't. _I'm_ supernatural. Remember? I can't hide that part of myself, and I can't let the girls find out. I can't keep them safe, Stiles."

"You've done a pretty good job so far," he says, with a smile that falls just short of reassuring.

Lydia lets go of the suitcase, brushing a hand against Stiles' cheek, trying not to cry. "I have to do this," she says. "I love you, Stiles, and I always will. And I love our daughters more than anything else in the world. But I can't put them in danger like that. I'm a banshee; death literally follows me everywhere I go. And I am _not_ going to invite death into our house."

Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but at that moment there's the sound of gentle footsteps from the hall and both Stiles and Lydia turn to see their children coming toward them. Berry is rubbing sleep from her eyes, and Allie is clutching a teddy bear.

"Girls," Lydia says, hurriedly wiping away a tear that had managed to slip down her cheeks, "you shouldn't be up. Go back to sleep."

The twins look at their parents, and Lydia has the horrible feeling they know something is wrong.

"It's okay, girls," Stiles says, gesturing for them to go back to their room. "Your mom and I are just having a little talk."

"About what?" Allie asks, while Berry yawns.

Without missing a beat, Stiles responds, "About what we should do with little girls who don't stay in their beds like they're told."

Berry giggles and Allie rolls her eyes, and this time when Lydia suggests they go back to bed they heed her advice.

"Night, Mom," Berry says over her shoulder, "night, Dad."

"See you in the morning," Allie adds.

Lydia's heart snaps, and her first instinct is to go to Stiles, to let him comfort her. But she can't. "You'll take care of them, won't you?" she asks.

Instead of trying to argue with her, he just nods, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "You know I will." He swallows, glances down the hall, and then asks, "When will you be back?"

It feels like there's a weight on Lydia's shoulders, pressing down on her, pinning her to the spot. "I don't know," she says, picking up her suitcase again. "Maybe soon."

"Maybe never," he says, filling in her thoughts.

She doesn't respond, just kisses him lightly on the cheek and slips past him to the door. She's halfway through it when panic seizes her, gripping her heart like ice. She turns back to her husband, who looks as horrified as she is.

"Stiles -" she chokes out.

"I know," he says, already reaching for her. She tumbles into his arms and buries her face in his chest, and they stay that way for a long time.

The clock reads 3.23.

/

At exactly that moment, Allie's eyes fly open and she stares at her sister in the darkness. Berry is staring back, still awake because she's trying to eavesdrop on their parents. _What is it? _she mouths.

Allie sits up slowly, holding her teddy to her chest. "I had a bad dream," she says, and Berry cuddles up to her, wrapping her sister up in her arms.

"What was it about?" Berry murmurs, her voice soothing, seeming to chase away the shadows that twist around in the corners of the room.

Allie sniffles. "I had a dream that Uncle Scott died."

/

As soon as Kira wakes up to an empty bed, she knows where Scott is. It's only a five minute drive to the cemetery, but it's after three am and she can hardly keep her eyes open. She can navigate the rows of tombstones in her sleep, so it doesn't take long to find the right one. Scott is leaning against Allison's headstone, his eyes half-closed and his breathing shallow. He starts when he hears Kira, and then he relaxes when he realizes who it is.

"I thought I'd find you here," Kira says, kneeling down beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He's cold to the touch, which is especially unusual for a werewolf.

He shrugs her hand off, running his fingers along the name engraved in stone.

Something inside Kira breaks, something she's been trying to keep hidden, and if she can't say things like this in a graveyard at three am then she knows she'll never find another time. "You'll never love me like you loved her," she says quietly.

Scott doesn't protest, doesn't even flinch. "I know," he murmurs, and it doesn't hurt as much as Kira had thought it would.

"But I love you," she says, reaching for his hand. It's ice cold. "And I'm not going to let you destroy yourself. Come on, let's just go home."

She tries to pull him to his feet, but he resists; and even though she's fully in control of her powers now, and they've grown considerably over the last ten years, she's still no match for a werewolf.

"Scott, come on," she urges, tugging at his arm this time but he still doesn't move. She stands up, and her foot brushes up against a small glass jar. She reaches for it, but Scott grabs it first.

"Is that the cure?" she asks numbly; Deaton's been working on it for years, and he's finally perfected it. She's only seen it once, and she hadn't thought much of it. She hadn't thought Scott, of all people, would want to be cured of his lycanthropy. He wouldn't do that to his pack.

Without responding, and before Kira can do a thing, he pulls he cork out and swallows all of the golden-colored liquid inside. A startled cry dies in her throat and she drops to her knees again, suddenly terrified. This time he doesn't shy away from her touch, doesn't try to shrug her off.

"Scott," she murmurs, holding him to her, noticing how frail he is, how much he's shaking, "oh, Scott."

With a start she realizes he's crying into her shoulder, and she kisses the top of his head. And then she sees the jar, the now empty jar that he'd said had contained the cure.

"Scott," she says in alarm, pushing him away so she can look him in the eyes. "Scott, look at me." He does, but only because she cups his chin in her hands and tilts his head up to face her. "Scott, that wasn't the cure. That was concentrated wolfsbane."

He hesitates just a second, his eyes already glazing over and his shaking turning into convulsions. "I know," he says, and Kira's heart stops. She wonders if it will ever start again.

This time she manages to half-drag him to his feet, but then he becomes dead weight and drags her back down to the ground. "Scott," she whimpers, pleading now, begging him to look at her, to tell her that there's something she doesn't know, "please, if we don't get you to Deaton you're going to die -"

"I know that, too," he says, his words slurring. With the last of his strength he reaches forward, shoving Kira so that she loses her balance and topples backward, hitting her head against the tombstone. The second before she passes out she thinks she hears him whisper, "I was never meant to be an alpha."

Her watch freezes at 3.23.

/

Scattered across the country are the remains of the McCall pack. After Liam's, Ryan's, and Scott's deaths (which happened in the space of a month and left a trail of broken hearts halfway across the country) they went their separate ways again, overseas and across the country, as far from each other as they could get. Some of them haven't seen each other in years; some of them haven't even spoken to each other since then.

But there's one thing that time and distance will never change: without Scott to call them home, they'll always be running.

/

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**So thank you to everyone who read, favorited, and especially reviewed. Sorry for, you know, destroying the entire McCall pack. My bad. As always I'm working on other projects, mostly short fics and one-shots, so keep an eye out if you like my writing. I swear they won't ALL be as dark as this.**

**See you around, wolflets, and thanks for your support.**


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